


Turbulence

by ImperialEvolution



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: But there's comfort, Fluff, I was on a plane while writing this, Jacobi is gay and that's relatable as hell, Jacobi's afraid of flying, Kepler's a softie at heart, M/M, Maxwell's a gossip, Pining jacobi, Soft Kepler, i guess, it sounds like an angsty title but it's really not, not exactly hurt/comfort, planes, so meta, that's all you need to know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 07:09:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13476336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImperialEvolution/pseuds/ImperialEvolution
Summary: Jacobi doesn't like flying. In fact, he would go as far as to say he hates it. With a passion.





	Turbulence

**Author's Note:**

> I'm writing something soft before I post more angst.

Jacobi doesn't like flying. In fact, he would go as far as to say he hates it. With a passion.

It's one of the reasons he's so eternally grateful that he works for SI-5, because flying is so obviously never an option. (You know, because they're probably wanted by at least one government at any given moment, and because they usually have guns with them at all times, and you know, he's a _ballistics expert_. Who works with _bombs_ ). And, the best thing about it all is that no one ever gets to know how scared he is of flying.

And yet, here he is, staring out the small boxy window at the tarmac of the runway, distantly aware that Kepler sits next to him, regarding him with curious eyes. He focuses on the rainwater streaming across the window, noting the tails like comets, and wishes he wasn't here.

"You're rather quiet today, Jacobi," he observes, by which he means, _You're usually complaining by now, what's up?_

Jacobi shrugs wordlessly, then realises he's proven Kepler's point. "Is that a problem, sir?" he asks, by which he means, _Sir, I am not in the mood for you to go all caring on_ _me._

Kepler raises an eyebrow and says nothing, by which he means, _Okay, but don't think I won't bring this up later._

Jacobi braces himself for take off as the plane starts to taxi, drumming his fingers against his armrest the only noise. If Kepler notices the tenseness of Jacobi's shoulders and how his fingers tap out a faster rhythm as the plane gains speed, he says nothing.

As they stabilise in the air, Jacobi exhales sharply out of his nose, and finally turns to Kepler. "Remind me again, sir, why we have to fly?"

Jacobi's lucky that Kepler's in a good mood. He says, evenly and calmly, "Because, Jacobi, this is short notice, largely diplomatic, and it's a long distance."

"Hm."

"Also, I didn't want to drive." He shoots a sideways grin at him, eyes twinkling and nonchalant. Jacobi wishes that he could mirror Kepler's constant air of ease, but he can't.

Instead, he rolls his shoulders and settles into his seat as best he can. It's a seven-hour flight and it was almost ten by the time they boarded. Even so, he won't be able to sleep, not on this demon hell-craft they call an aeroplane.

Just as he thinks this, Kepler says, "You should get some sleep, Jacobi. We've got a long day ahead of us." 

"Sure," he says, but he can't close his eyes for more than a few seconds. He steals a glance and Kepler, whose head is tilted back, eyes closed. In the semi-darkness of the plane, he looks less like the smug, imposing Major he knows and more like... Well, Jacobi's not sure what he looks like. But he can't exactly look away. 

He studies the sharp cut of his jawline, how his Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. Jacobi notes thin scar on his chin and the matching one that runs from his nose to his lip, his fine cheekbones and ludicrously long eyelashes. Kepler's hair falls forward into his eyes, how he runs a hand through it when it misbehaves, dragging it backwards, only for it to eventually return. Kepler's too goddamn pretty for his own good.

"Jacobi."

Kepler startles him, and he quickly tears his eyes away from the Major's face, trying to act casual.

"Sir?"

"Go to sleep." Kepler doesn't open his eyes once, but Jacobi can imagine the glare he'd be giving him if he did. Jacobi says nothing and closes his eyes. He doesn't sleep.

After a long while, Jacobi realises that Kepler's asleep, his steady breathing making his shoulders rise and fall. Kepler's head slowly drifts to the side, finally landing as a soft, strangely comforting pressure on Jacobi's shoulder.

Jacobi doesn't breathe for a long while, for fear of waking the Major up, Jacobi tells himself. His heart pounds in his chest. He slowly takes his phone out of his pocket, careful not to shift Kepler. He takes a photo, for blackmailing purposes, he tells himself, smiling softly at the picture on his screen.

Then he turns the phone off and gently rests his head on Kepler's. The second he does, the panic sirens that had been sounding in his head dissipate, and he closes his eyes for more than a few seconds.

Jacobi is startled awake at the cabin crew's announcement of some turbulence coming up. "Jesus Christ," he mutters to himself as the seatbelt sign turns on.

Kepler still rests on his shoulder, and he winces in pity for him. The crick in his neck when he wakes up is gonna be painful. Jacobi stares out the window for a minute or two before the turbulence kicks in. He forces himself to look away, his fingers curling anxiously, digging into his armrests.

When the plane jolts, Jacobi flinches, grimacing as his fingers instinctively tighten around the armrest, like a finger tightening on a trigger.

"Jacobi," comes a voice from next to him, startling him. He flinched around to see that Kepler is no longer resting on him, but rather giving him an ever so slightly long-suffering look. "Could you let go of my arm?"

Jacobi glances down to see his hand tight on the Major's forearm, knuckles white against the tanned skin. He instantly loosens his grip, pulling away, too terrified the plane is going to drop out of the sky to feel any real shame, nor notice that Kepler's arm is red where he'd been gripping.

"Sorry," he mutters tightly, pulling his arm back into his seat, pressing his fingernails into his palms so that they leave white crescents in his skin.

"You don't like flying?" Kepler asks, but when his voice is so low and deliberate, it's not a question at all.

Jacobi shoots him a look so dirty that Kepler actually has to break eye contact, even if it's for just half a millisecond.

There's a long pause before Kepler says, "I thought you wanted to join the Airforce when you were young."

Jacobi laughs, or attempts to. It doesn't really sound like it was supposed to. He never really wanted to join, he just wanted to make his father proud of his fucked up son for once. 

He doesn't say this, instead settling on, "I don't mind the flying itself, really. It's the whole _not being in control_ thing that grinds my gears."

Kepler nods, as if this is a reasonable answer. Maybe, if it were coming from anyone else, it would be. But it's not, because honestly? When as Daniel Jacobi ever been in control of _anything?_

"Do you want to hold my hand again?" Kepler asks, and it's so soft that Jacobi is genuinely unsure whether it's a joke or not. Judging by the look in his eyes, Kepler's not really sure either.

As much as Jacobi loved the idea, he shakes his head, not entirely trusting his voice right now.

"Jacobi?"

"What?"

"Tell me about Maxwell."

Jacobi stares blankly at the Major for a few seconds. "Why do you—" It's then that Jacobi realises what he's trying to do. He's trying to distract him, keep him talking.

Kepler repeats himself, softer this time, but slightly more urgent.

"Fine. Alana Maxwell is..." Jacobi chooses his next words very carefully. "The worst friend I have ever had."

Kepler raises his eyebrows, equal parts surprised and intrigued.

"Sir, you have to understand that everything I say now can _never_ reach Maxwell's ears. Okay?"

"Okay." In the dark, Kepler sounds slightly amused, less trying to distract him and more distracted himself.

"You remember that time we had to blow up that hospital?" Jacobi doesn't wait for Kepler to affirm this before barreling on, "Well, I once told her about it, because, you know, we were talking about our worst assignments, and it was a pretty shit mission, sir. And I told her, _'Alana, if you tell anyone about this, I will never talk to you again.'_ And can you guess what she did?"

Kepler chuckles. "She told someone?"

"Not just some _one—_ just about everyone I talked to that week mysteriously started to avoid my eyes! She managed to tell effectively the entire fricking office!"

Kepler does something very unexpected then. He laughs. A genuine, shoulder-shaking laugh.

Jacobi's stunned for a second, staring at him, heart pounding in his chest. "H-Hey! You're supposed to be outraged, not laughing!"

"I know, I know, but it's kinda funny!"

" _Kinda funny—?_ " Jacobi splutters for a second. "I don't believe this! You're just as bad as her!"

Kepler grins. "Sorry, continue." He doesn't sound sorry at all. In fact, he sounds just like Maxwell.

"It's just like the duck thing all over again," Jacobi grumbles helplessly, crossing his arms and looking out the window.

"I _knew_ you were still annoyed about the duck thing!"

"Of _course_ I'm still annoyed about the duck thing! It was my weakest moment, sir! And you filmed it! And sent it to the _entire team!_ "

"Oh, please," Kepler waves a dismissive hand as he talks. "It so worth it! Maxwell still watches that video, you know."

"Oh my god, you're _worse_ than her!" Jacobi wants it to sound accusing, angry, outraged, but his voice wobbles at the effort not to laugh, something about Kepler's voice stealing the air from his lungs.

"Hey, let's not say anything we'll regret," Kepler sing-songs, and Jacobi swore Kepler winked at him.

"Too late for that," Jacobi mutters.

Suddenly, the seatbelt sign flicks off, and the turbulence is gone. Jacobi looks up at the no longer illuminated symbol above them, amazed. He hadn't even realised that the turbulence was that bad. In fact, he'd barely felt it.

He looks over at Kepler, who's still chuckling from Jacobi's last quip, and realises softly that Kepler had achieved in what he set out to do. He'd distracted him.

Kepler looks at him, his smirk fading at the edges. "What? What is it?"

Jacobi smiles. "Nothing, sir. We can leave it alone."

Kepler falters for a second, barely even that. "Okay," he says softly, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. "You okay, Mister Jacobi?"

"Fine, sir." And Jacobi means it.


End file.
